Laer. That drop of blood, that calmes Proclaimes me Bastard: Cries Cuckold to my Father, brands the Harlot Euen heere betweene the chaste vnsmirched brow Of my true Mother
King. What is the cause Laertes, That thy Rebellion lookes so Gyant-like? Let him go Gertrude: Do not feare our person: There's such Diuinity doth hedge a King, That Treason can but peepe to what it would, Acts little of his will. Tell me Laertes, Why thou art thus Incenst? Let him go Gertrude. Speake man
Laer. Where's my Father? King. Dead
Qu. But not by him
King. Let him demand his fill
Laer. How came he dead? Ile not be Iuggel'd with. To hell Allegeance: Vowes, to the blackest diuell. Conscience and Grace, to the profoundest Pit. I dare Damnation: to this point I stand, That both the worlds I giue to negligence, Let come what comes: onely Ile be reueng'd Most throughly for my Father
King. Who shall stay you? Laer. My Will, not all the world, And for my meanes, Ile husband them so well, They shall go farre with little
King. Good Laertes: If you desire to know the certaintie Of your deere Fathers death, if writ in your reuenge, That Soop-stake you will draw both Friend and Foe, Winner and Looser
Laer. None but his Enemies
King. Will you know them then
La. To his good Friends, thus wide Ile ope my Armes: And like the kinde Life-rend'ring Politician, Repast them with my blood
King. Why now you speake Like a good Childe, and a true Gentleman. That I am guiltlesse of your Fathers death, And am most sensible in greefe for it, It shall as leuell to your Iudgement pierce As day do's to your eye.
A noise within. Let her come in.
Laer. How now? what noise is that? Oh heate drie vp my Braines, teares seuen times salt, Burne out the Sence and Vertue of mine eye. By Heauen, thy madnesse shall be payed by waight, Till our Scale turnes the beame. Oh Rose of May, Deere Maid, kinde Sister, sweet Ophelia: Oh Heauens, is't possible, a yong Maids wits, Should be as mortall as an old mans life? Nature is fine in Loue, and where 'tis fine, It sends some precious instance of it selfe After the thing it loues
Ophe. They bore him bare fac'd on the Beer, Hey non nony, nony, hey nony: And on his graue raines many a teare, Fare you well my Doue
Laer. Had'st thou thy wits, and did'st perswade Reuenge, it could not moue thus
Ophe. You must sing downe a-downe, and you call him a-downe-a. Oh, how the wheele becomes it? It is the false Steward that stole his masters daughter
Laer. This nothings more then matter
Ophe. There's Rosemary, that's for Remembraunce. Pray loue remember: and there is Paconcies, that's for Thoughts
Laer. A document in madnesse, thoughts & remembrance fitted
Ophe. There's Fennell for you, and Columbines: ther's Rew for you, and heere's some for me. Wee may call it Herbe-Grace a Sundaies: Oh you must weare your Rew with a difference. There's a Daysie, I would giue you some Violets, but they wither'd all when my Father dyed: They say, he made a good end; For bonny sweet Robin is all my ioy
Laer. Thought, and Affliction, Passion, Hell it selfe: She turnes to Fauour, and to prettinesse
Ophe. And will he not come againe, And will he not come againe: No, no, he is dead, go to thy Death-bed, He neuer wil come againe. His Beard as white as Snow, All Flaxen was his Pole: He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away mone, Gramercy on his Soule. And of all Christian Soules, I pray God. God buy ye.